Second Best
by Necrolily
Summary: Love is a crazy thing that makes people do crazy things.  No specific OC or cannon chara, rated T for brief bits of gore and homocide


_Author's note: This is just a little crappy piece I wrote after a creepypasta binge. It's quick and choppy and no real plot so do feel free to skip over this or just enjoy a bit of bit of 'horror'_

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><p>Love is such a powerful emotion.<br>It brings such a promise, such passion. It can make the threat of death nothing and empower like no seat of privilege. Carry them higher, faster, and longer than any drug. In all it is an amazing thing. Bringning out the best... and the worst in people.  
>Love can blind a person to ones faults and short comings and quirks.<br>Love can make the charm appear in the beast.  
>Love can heal old wounds.<br>Love can cause them just as easily.  
>Love is a madness.<p>

An intense passion that consumes the mind.  
>And the line between what's good and what's bad is a thin one.<p>

Love is easy to spill over into insanity and leave a wash of blood. 

Upon Cybertron there are a number of different models. Mechs and femmes who covered the ground with tred, others who could cross the vast distances of space, coast alien waters, and those who danced in the air.  
>Fliers.<br>Seekers.  
>A class all their own. With an affinity for the air and from practices to language trully a breed solely of themselves.<br>Beautiful creatures, the aerial elite of Cybertron, and with a deeply embedded opinion that it's better to breed within their own kind to keep that beauty and create a purity for their culture.

Always, though, there are those to challenge a long standing tradition.

For a young seeker, walking the streets of Cybertron was common. He adored the attention his wings brought and in the commotion of the cybertronian cities it felt like a theater with all optics upon his performance. It was exciting for the mech and never ceased to be because while he got his attention he also never ran short of people to talk with.

New faces, new conversation, new opportunity and so much offered within a crowd. Nights of pleasure, days of bliss, right on call.

Until... he met a mech that sent his spark racing.

This little mech wasn't anything special. A slender, common ground model. Cybertronian sleekness, a pair of rather average blue optics with just a bit of slanting to make them almond and sharp. A rather boring pale powder colored paint job that didn't hold much flair but was polished and pristine. The mech could have blended into the metal work and never be noticed, for the seeker though there was a shine to the mech.

A beauty, a pop, an elegance that everyone else walking the streets didn't seem to have.

For anyone who believed in the phenomenon it was love at first sight.

For the seeker, it was a sudden and intense desire to have the mech he saw. It was a stupid, silly to let his spark go out so freely but people can't help themselves.

He fell hard and fast and tried to woo the groundling.

Tried.

The groundling repeatedly turned his down, always turning an optic from the seeker when the flier acted out or attempted to be charming or give a gift. The denial never seemed to dampen the fliers attempts, being ignored seemed to drive him wilder.

Until the wild appeal wore thin and the seeker had confronted his interest about it all.

"Why won't you like me! Is it something I'm doing wrong? Something I'm saying?"

The pale groundling shook his helm and looked on the seeker with a calm, even a bored, expression. Those pretty blue optics didn't flicker or flutter, nothing changed on the round faceplates as he spoke.

"I don't like aerial types."

"What... why?"

"You're all flighty and full of yourselves. Your first love is to the sky anyway. I'm not standing second best."

And with that that he left, not even glancing at the rattled seeker as he did.

First love to the sky?

That was true. Any Cybertronian with wings adored the sky. It was their house, their home, a cradle, a playground, the focal point of their life. Their spark belonged to the sky... but he wanted to give his spark to the groundling mech.

And his interest didn't even look at him because of his birth right?

To choose between the sky and the one he loved. The one his spark craved.

It was an easy choice for and addled processor.

He knew were his pretty little mech lived. It took a few days watching to get the routine down but when the pattern cemented itself in his mind he struck.

His groundling was predictable and went out from morning till noon. Joors of time in which his home was vacant. Time enough for the seeker to do as he needed.

Picking the lock had been easy. He was careful to re-lock the flatte when inside though. His mech wouldn't like to see his place left. The groundling was always particular about making sure the door was locked.

He was particular about a lot but the lock was important.

He needed privacy now though so the lock was very important.

His groundling said he wasn't going to be second best. The seeker would make the mech first than, and show him how dedicated he was. He would show his little gem he wasn't like other seekers. He would prove himself and then have his groundling.

Clearing a space within the larger of the rooms the seeker pulled a large cloth from his subspace and laid it out. He didn't want his mech to be mad about the mess. This would make sure everything was easy to clean up.

He sat on the cloth, legs folded and wings fanned.

With care he reached around, running the digits of his right servo down the edge of his left wing. His frame trembled in response.

He loved his wings... they were part of a seeker's pride, their image. Expressive, sensitive, distinctive.

One of the things that made a seeker what they were.

Being a seeker though... that was the reason his mech didn't want him.

So things had to be fixed.

His claws dug into the sensitive plating and he began to pull downwards, arching and hunching away from the sensation and only furthering the tearing.

He muted his vocals and biting his glossa the world fell into black as the first of the connections tore.

He needed to do this though.

So he dug his fangs in and continued to pull.

It took longer than he thought. Every little tug was agonizing and he had blacked out several times.

He didn't even have time to clean himself up after the procedure.

It was embarrassing to have his mech walk in and he still be such a mess.

The groundling looked shocked, optics wide, mouth agape, body halted mid-movement.

His attention solely on the seeker.

Once seeker, given.

The bloodied wings were lain neatly before the bloodied mech, smudged servo prints in luminous shades of spilled energon. The mech himself knelt there with them, the open wounds still drizzled and sparked, back and sides and upper legs drenched in the spilt substance, servos splattered and twitching, faceplates streaked with stay bits of his life fluid from his servos that had transferred when he had wiped at his optics.

Such a mess.

That could be cleaned though.

Right now he simply smiled, pushing himself up to stand even though his body protested and he swayed drastically.

"Is this better? You're not second best anymore. Will you love me now~?"

His mech seemed speechless, his mouth moved but no sound came out for several long kliks until at last a strangled noise spilled forth. Something of a scream.

"I know... I made a mess.. I promise I'll clean it up. I just didn't have time. Heh I lost track of that.."

"Y-y-you need help!"

"Hu? Help? Oh this silly stuff? No. I'm fine."

"N-n-no! You need help! You're sick!"

"What?"

"You're sick!"

"Dont.. don't you like this? You're not second best now..."

"No! Nonono! I don't like this! This is disgusting! J-just get -get away!"

"But.. I did this for you.."

"No! Oh primus... I-i-i... A medic! That's who needs to be called."

His mech was frantic, moving this way and that and trying not to look his way.

Disgusting?

His mech wasn't happy..?

No.

That wasn't true.

He'd given up the sky for this mech.

HIS mech.

So he wouldn't be second best.

This is a mistake...

"I did this for you." The seeker took the groundlings wrist and held him still, halting his pacing and panic.

The look of disgust at the touch was obvious and the smaller mech struggled. "I did this for you... you won't be second best.. so we can be together."

"Let go let got letgoletgo!"

"We can be together." The once arieal elite dropped his voice, lowering his helm so his lips were close to the others audios. "We WILL be together... and... I don't like to be second best either.. so... you'll only be mine.."

Claws slid down to center of the groundlings chassis and bit into the thin metal covering. It made the smaller mech freeze in terror, optics bright and wide. It made the large mech smile. Having his mech's optics like that. They were so pretty. And no one else could make this mech's optics shine like they were. This look was only for the grounded seeker.

He made sure of this as he plunged his servo deep past the metal and closed his digits around his mech's spark.

A spark only to be his.

So warm and vibrant and so fragile and never to be left to anyone else's caress.

Gentle lips left a kiss upon the still groundling crown as the once winged mech settled down upon one of the long seats he had earlier moved against the wall. His little gem set upon his lap, optics shuttered and lip components tinted with a thin froth of his own substance.

The seeker no more wrapped his arm about the chilling form and cradled the delicate frame tenderly as his free servo, sullied with energon of both his own and the others, lifted his gem's chin as he stole a kiss.

His optics shone as he stared down at his prize, in his arms at last.

Love is an amazing thing that drives peoples actions through unrestrained passions.

And it demands to the first and foremost when it is acknowledged.

It stands aside for no one and will never take the title of second best for any reason.


End file.
